


Howling Wolf, Black Widow

by Archaema



Category: BattleTech: MechWarrior
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Biting, Cunnilingus, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Giant Mecha, House Kurita, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, War, Wolf's Dragoons, battlemechs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaema/pseuds/Archaema
Summary: Natasha Kerensky, the infamous Black Widow, picks up a new recruit to keep her battered squad in action during harrowing times. Against the flames of grievance and war, the spark is lit and she and the newest woman in the Black Widow Company must steal their moments together whenever time allows.





	1. I Guess That Was the Line

**Author's Note:**

> One of my oldest hobbies, but it needs more gay.  
> For those curious, this is the early 3030s in the Battletech timeline. Like most of the BT timeline, bad things are going down.

It was not Callista’s preference to sit outside in weather that seemed hot enough to boil the moisture in the air. She was glad for her cut-off jean shorts and her black tank top, even if she hated wearing the skimpy getup. It was not so much that it bothered her, but when the other men in her unit stared, it was hard to keep calm.

That was in fact a large part of why she was sitting on a giant armored foot outside a battered hangar of worn and munitions-perforated sheet metal. 

She sighed, reaching to her belt to pull out a metal flask, unscrewing the top quickly. The techs were all too busy to care, and since she was one of three left of her team, their assigned gathering area was not densely crowded, by any stretch. Worse, whoever it was she was supposed to be meeting was late. Her commanding officer, captain of her company, had not bothered to tell her who it was. 

Things were getting desperate, if she was honest with herself. The casualties they had faced in the ongoing fight that they were locked in, across multiple star systems, was brutal. They had been more than decimated, though it brought a satisfying, angry smirk to her face to think they had given better than they had gotten.

In retrospect, punching out a fellow soldier had probably been a reckless thing to do but those same unwanted gazes needed to be put to a stop, especially when they tended to grow into propositions that she had made clear were totally uninteresting.

In the men, at least.

It made her lament the bandages wrapping her hands, where her knuckles were raw beneath the tight wrappings. The soreness had a sense of righteousness that made them tolerable, but her dexterity was going to be limited for a few days. It was moot, given their situation of being actively in conflict and holed up in a less than well-appointed accommodations.

“Not gonna kick me out right now, at least,” she grumbled, about to tilt the flask up. It had not been the first time she had gotten into a full on fistfight - the knees and roundhouses were bonus. A shock of red hair caught her eye, too vibrantly orange and red to be totally natural. 

She dropped the flask, eyes going wide. Her hair, whipping in the hot wind, blew into her mouth, the long black strands making her spit and curse under her breath as she tried to get them out of the way.

Not one person in Wolf’s Dragoons was unaware of that face, that hair, that woman.

“Captain Kerensky?” Her voice stumbled, the words barely coherent as she tried to corral her thoughts.

“Lieutenant Strovos,” the woman replied, nodding. “I hope my delay doesn’t bother you.” There was an added, unspoken implication that she could not possibly have cared less if it had.

“No, I was just, er, nothing.” Callista reached down to pick up the flask, her eyes meeting the other woman’s as she lifted it and set it back in place on her belt. Brilliant blue, and probably the result of some sort of cosmetic augmentation, Kerensky’s eyes were hard to ignore. 

“Captain Lewis can’t kick you out, not here, not now,” Kerensky said, ignoring the flask. She walked around Callista and leaned against the rise of sloped armor that shielded the Battlemech providing them shade, a hand on her hip. There were smudges of grease, sweat, and dirt spattered about her exposed skin. 

It was hardly shocking; they had been fighting for their lives more often than not in the last six months, and no one was fiercer than Natasha Keresnky.

While she was only ranked as a captain, she was subject to the same respect and place at the planning tables as the commanders of any of the massive mercenary force’s full colonels. By rumor, Callista was fairly certain that she was also the deadliest out of any of them, but then she had not earned her moniker through inaction. Under her denim vest the black tank top she sported was emblazoned with the logo of her command, synonymous with the woman herself, a black widow spider. 

“So you’re here to scare me into line, then?” Callista leaned back against the mech’s foot, not bothering to stand up. “I mean, you are pretty intimidating, so that’s a solid idea.”

“No,” Natasha replied, narrowing her eyes. Intimidating she could do, and effortlessly. “I’m here to take you.”

“Take me?” Callista blinked, puzzlement making her tilt her head in confusion. “Not like-“ She bit at her lip, then shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a problem, right?” The Black Widow pushed away from the massive machine’s limb and stalked forward, a hand coming to rest on Callista’s shoulder. “And I take care of problems.” There was a grin on the veteran ‘mech pilot’s face. “Problems like you, to be exact. You get to earn redemption in the fiery hell of battle.” 

“That’s an interesting sell.” Callista still found herself swallowing hard, despite the faintest flutter of excitement burgeoning along with her resentment that her commander was essentially uninterested in tolerating her. “What makes you think you can set me straight?”

“I’ve taken dozens of pilots, from simple soldiers with attitude problems to a noble with a huge stick up his ass, and gotten them to follow my lead,” Natasha replied. Her hand shifted from Callista’s shoulder to her neck. The taller pilot pulled, palm flat against her throat, and glared down into her eyes. “I looked at your history, I’m not ignorant. You’re have more pride than you’ll admit and you’re definitely not walking a straight line, are you?”  _ In more ways than one _ , the tone of her voice implied.

Callista froze, the pressure threatening and controlling at the same time. There was no looking away from the powerful force above her. She simply nodded as best she could with the hand against her.

“So, are you going to follow my orders and do what I say?” There was an intensity and danger in that voice that made Callista shiver, but not from fear. Even with her dark olive skin, she knew she had to be showing a hint of a blush.

She nodded.

“Yes, Captain Kerensky,” she whispered.

“Good; don’t forget it.” Natasha eased up on the pressure slowly, taking long seconds before she stood back up and turned to point off to the west of the rundown old base they were occupying. “Get this machine moving and over to my team by the air control tower, and get to my tent. There’s a briefing in 15.”

Callista let her eyes finally slip away from Natasha, to gaze up at the underside of her  _ Marauder _ ’s chin. 

“Got it, Captain,” she said. She pulled herself to her feet and gave a quick stretch, flexing her arms and the muscles there visibly.

“And Strovos.” The Black Widow looked over her shoulder as she turned to head away. “You were right - Collins deserved it. Sounds like you’ve got a good left hook. I like that. Have your tech get your ‘mech in black and red as soon as you can.”

She acknowledged the order with a nod, reaching out to the rope ladder up to her ‘mech without looking. A ghost of her smirk had returned, as her eyes lingered on the Black Widow until she was out of sight.


	2. Welcome to the Short Rest of Your Life

Callista was not sure if it was a preference or just the circumstances that the Black Widow Company’s meeting tent felt like a sauna, but the way the nine other pilots in the tent were standing haphazardly or leaning back and fanning themselves told her she was hardly the only uncomfortable one. 

She was pretty certain she was the most exhausted, though. The burst of activity after the Black Widow had left her to get her ass in gear and over to their chunk of real estate in the decrepit base had been intense. Her tech team had been firmly told they were not going along with her, which meant scrambling around the new digs to find their engineer and get someone to look at her  _ Marauder _ . 

At least the matter of paint had been immediately understood, but there were plenty of repairs due to the machine, as well. She had to admit she liked the idea of her machine being black instead of the green it had once been, and it had been attention starved for months with armor plates still missing or scourged to near uselessness. 

“You in for Colin?” The woman leaning back in a simple folding chair with a battery-powered fan blowing an ineffectual breeze into her face that spoke had a shock of curly hair, black as night. She had caught Callista under her gaze with deep black eyes.

“Maybe?” Callista furrowed her brow a bit, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m guessing Colin’s out.” It was not hard to imagine the context, with the losses they had all incurred.

“Lost his leg,” she acknowledged. “Gonna be a while before it’s taken care of.” She ran her hand back through her hair, revealing a bit more of her forehead, beaded with sweat. “Name’s Sheridan. Lynn Sheridan. Whaddya drive?”

“Lynn, huh? I’ve heard the name. I’m Callista.” She reached out and took a lazily proffered hand, shaking it once. “Strovos, not that it matters.”

“The Regulan Strovos family?” Lynn’s eyebrow was raised, as she tapped her thigh lazily with the barrel of her sidearm, a laser pistol with a heavy-duty battery pack shoved into the handle.

“Originally,” Callista said, doing her best to suppress a roll of her eyes. “Like I said, it doesn’t really matter-”

“Right, doesn’t matter.” Lynn gave her own noncommittal shrug. “Even if they hadn’t gotten their asses killed, none of that matters in here. I’m guessing I don’t need to give you that spiel, though.”

“This is my family, these days.” Callista gave a huff of amusement. “Well, aside from the sleaze that try to lay hands on me.” She glanced down at her still-bandaged knuckles and shrugged. “Can’t say it was my worst choice. Put and end to that shit and now I’m here.”

“Not the most uncommon story,” Lynn said. “A lot of us are considered ‘troublemakers’. Or were, at least. But the Captain has a way with people. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh,” Callista said, giving a nod. “ _ Marauder _ .” It was important to know, she figured. They were going to be fighting and possibly dying alongside each other, after all. 

“Huh, imagine that.” Lynn gave a laughing shake of her head. “Well, we’re all even then. That’s the machine you’re replacing… if not the man.” 

“Yeah, I try not to think about that part. I’ll do what I can for us to work as a team, as long as someone doesn’t put a damn hand on my ass.” 

“Heh, I’m not worried. The captain doesn’t pick people lightly.” 

It brought a small, satisfied grin to Callista’s face to hear it, though she looked away, eyes scanning the cracked paving the tent set on. Her tongue pressed the back of one of her incisors as she stifled it. 

The sound of the tent’s front flap being pulled open freed her from the distraction, calling on her attention. 

“We’ll make this quick,” Natasha said, standing by a board with a map pinned to it. “The locals are keeping an eye out for where the Kuritans dropped in, but they’re not seeing much. It might be a DEST advanced team. The 7 th are looking for them. Recon, Clavell, you’re on call if they need rapid response. The rest of Gamma and Epsilon aren’t in a condition to stand up right now and fight. Otherwise, be ready to deploy any time. As soon as they find this base, the main force will be on their way.”

“As of now, we’re not fighting to hold territory, just to make them take it slowly and cover our way out. We have a week until our ships are ready to get us off of this rock.” She sighed, and wiped sweat from her brow, shaking her head. “Any questions?”

“The newbie?” Lynn piped up, giving a lazy wave of her hand.

“Right, I figured you’d all get to know each other fast enough,” Kerensky replied. There was an accepting shrug, though, and she nodded.

Callista felt her back stiffen, and she glanced around warily.

“Callista, this is the rest of the Black Widow Company. The rest of you, keep her in line, and get her trusting us.” She gave a small smirk, her eyes scanning over the room before they settled on their newest member. “Don’t punch any of them unless you have to.”

“Got it, won’t start shit, unless.” Callista nodded once, then closed her eyes while she let out a pent up breath.

Natasha nodded, stretching out her arms to one side.

“Business done. Get some sleep, everyone. Recon, you’re on watch.” Natasha started on her way out as the team intermittently rose to their feet or turned to leave. As she passed by Callista, she laid a hand on her shoulder and gave her a firm squeeze, looking down with a nod.

Callista knew she blushed at the touch, but nodded back, refusing to hide the color in her olive skin. She rose up, and followed the team out.

* * * * *

It had taken exactly five days, twenty-two hours and twenty-seven minutes for things to go to complete shit.

Callista could hear the sound of a losing battle over the comm lines. Some fifty Dragoon Battlemechs, fighting hard as they pulled toward a landing zone that was on the receiving end of a hot burn from three Dragoon dropships coming in at dangerous speeds from far out in the Harrow’s Sun star system.

The Kuritan force had managed to bring the better part of two full regiments to bear on the Dragoon force. Even fighting as fiercely as they were, they were not going to last.

There was a single thing in the Dragoons’ favor, though.

The enemy had no idea the Black Widows were on Harrow’s Sun II.

“They’ve got some artillery tanks in back,” Johnny Clavell said over the comm. “Spattering of tanks, and the command lance of the whole damn force.” He was quiet, collected, as he read out the data his team had collected. His  _ Rifleman _ somehow defied any expectations of the anti-aircraft ‘Mech, a ghost on the battlefield.

“Mark the CO and the XO,” Natasha replied, her black Warhammer striding across the depressed valley that zigzagged up behind the plains where the ships were closing toward.

“A _Grand_ _Dragon_ and a _Cyclops_ ,” Clavell replied. The quiet words were, simply, a death sentence.

“Lynn, Callista, with me on the  _ Dragon _ . Takiro, Miklos, John, Piett, on the other one. The rest of you, make some noise and take out the artillery.” Natasha was not like Clavell.

_ She’s enjoying this _ , Callista thought, blinking her eyes behind the heavy protection of her neurohelmet, the interface that helped transfer her balance to her ‘mech to keep it easily upright and also protected her head.  _ She’s absolutely crazy and hot. _ She blinked again at that. She did not need to be reminding herself of that fact at the moment, involuntary though it was.

It was swept away by the glint of red ahead, as they started striding up the steep slope. Most would have been slowed far more, but the Black Widows were not most forces. Callista almost had to struggle to keep up, but found herself pushing on point right where she wanted to be.

They crested the top, sun at their backs as it hung low in the sky with blazing fire beaming down on the battlefield.

Twelve battlemechs surged forward, dropping their crosshairs on targets just within the range of their long range weapons. Between them, tanks and artillery were arrayed in formation, the pressure of the long range cannons almost strong enough to register to her senses cocooned in her cockpit.

“Hoooo-yeah!” Callista crowed into her mic, as her Marauder barreled at top speed through the red tanks. She did not even hesitate, shifting the ‘mech’s weight to its left foot so that she could turn a step into a kick, the armored limb becoming a battering ram that smashed in the side of the tracked vehicle. She did not slow, either, the tank bursting into flames in her wake as she crested the barren ridge.

Past her raced a swarm of long range missiles, bearing down on the low, long-snouted  _ Grand Dragon _ that lead the enemy force. More followed, even more in number, headed for the tall, armor-cowled  _ Cyclops _ .

“Going for distance, huh, Callie?” Lynn called over the mic.

“Yeah, just sorry I missed the fireball,” Callista said back, the targeting reticule in her display floating onto the enemy commander. Some would have held back, not unleashing both of the  _ Marauder _ ’s twin particle cannons at near maximum range, but she had not earned her reputation as a pilot on holding back except when absolutely necessary.

She relished the thrum of the manmade energy, so reminiscent of lightning tinged with an azure hue. They collided with the target’s armored shoulder, arcing feedback and residual energy crawling for the briefest moment over the gaping hole left in its wake.

Two more joined, Kerensky’s black  _ Warhammer _ only a few meters behind. The streams of energy ripped into the  _ Grand Dragon _ ’s arm just below where Callista’s had struck, and in a split second, the limb was sagging, hanging on by strands of myomer and wire, useless.

She could see the machine stagger as it turned to bear on the approaching Widows. The pilot valiantly struggled against the pull of gravity and kinetic force, and kept the machine upright. A return bolt from its own particle cannon burned through the air between the two that had assailed it.

She could feel the heat in the air around her from her weapons fire and the full speed run she was keeping up in her machine as she thumbed the trigger as soon as the PPCs recycled their coils charges. She could afford to run hot. She only needed to buy time for Kerensky, after all.

The bolts ripped into the enemy’s snout, pouring destructive energy. Kerensky piled on a single shot, burning into the ‘mech’s hip. She was preserving; it was almost time.

The  _ Marauder _ was a commander’s mech in its heyday, with advanced battlefield computing and target tracking systems. The  _ Warhammer _ Kerensky was in was even more heavily armed, and once it got close, the stand-off focused  _ Grand Dragon _ would stand little chance of claiming a victory. Callista suspected that even if Kerensky had been in far lesser a machine, the outcome would have been much the same.

Her cockpit grew hot, over 50 degrees centigrade, when she squeezed the trigger again. Return fire crashed into her ‘mech’s side, burning into armor as a series of pangs from impacting missiles followed. The damage was noticeable, but not nearly enough to make her slow in her rapid gait; her return fire brought the  _ Grand Dragon _ to one of its knees in a shower of dirt.

All around them, weapons fire was burning through the air. Vehicles were shattered, and the enemy’s command force was staggered. The focused fire was taking its toll, as Lynn’s  _ Crusader _ catapulted swarms of missiles in at the collapsing command ‘mech.

They were crumbling.

It took barely any time for Natasha to tear the  _ Grand Dragon _ and the enemy commander within to shreds once she closed enough to turn her short range weaponry on the fallen target. In disarray, the remainder of the command team and support group tried to retreat.

In only a few short minutes, they were scattered.

“We’re coming in hot,” came a call routed through Clavell and Callista’s systems. “Fall back to Crossing and regroup. We’re in atmo.” Above, Callista could just see the burning trails of incoming ships in the apex of the sky. It was time to get the hell off of the forsaken killing grounds.

“All right,” Kerensky said. “We’re going in and we’re going to hold that zone enough to get everyone in. No holding back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts 3 and 4 hopefully this weekend and midweek.


	3. Revel in the Blaze of Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losses suffered, the Black Widows nurse their wounds. In defiance of the cruelty of chance, Callista learns just how involved a Captain Natasha Kerensky can be.

The landing grounds for the ships held.

When they found themselves close enough, the Draconis Combine ‘mechs finally seemed to have ceased their pursuit. The massive, egg-shaped dropships were heavily armed enough to discourage any individual unit from advancing too closely, unless they had overwhelming firepower. Uncoordinated and battered, if still outnumbering the Dragoons, they did not take the gamble.

Even so, it felt like there just had not been much to save. The casualties were immense, the ships far from filled to capacity.

Callista pulled off the heavy neurohelmet, the padded imprints on her shoulders irritated though not as badly as she had feared. Setting it aside, she leaned back in her command seat, looking up above her at the array of switches and instrumentation.

“Thanks for keeping me alive one more time, baby,” Callista whispered, gently tapping the edge of her fist against the roof. The systems settled into idle mode, and dim guide lights flickered on to give her illumination as she crawled the short distance to the access hatch.

Beyond, the access catwalk was already waiting, and she dropped down, slinging her jacket she had retrieved from storage in the cockpit over her shoulder, her other hand slipping into the pocket of her shorts.

At the end of the ramp, Lynn was already waiting.

“You got outta there fast,” Callista said, smirking.

“I had my reasons,” Lynn replied, returning the expression.

“Fair enough, I don’t blame you.” She glanced around the  _ Union _ -Dropship’s insides. “She’s well appointed, huh?”

“Captain Kerensky has a lotta clout,” Lynn replied. “Speakin’ of, we meet at the main hall when we’re off missions on board.”

“Got it; tacit ‘be there’ order.”

Lynn shrugged noncommittally, and turned to head to the elevator.

Callista sighed and rubbed the back of her neck wearily, but followed along. 

The ship smelled surprisingly decent for a vessel that was probably three hundred years of age. A lot of the dropships Callista had traveled on before she had joined the Dragoons had carried the lingering stale odor of ages of reprocessing air and water. It led to a peculiar tang, and sometimes could be oppressive in the worst of cases. 

She remembered the shock the first time she’d encountered it, after splitting from her family. Regulan politics were eternally byzantine, and one day, her parents made the wrong move. It was far less common a story than seemed fair to the children of those families caught up in the political intrigue. She had snuck away, and piled onto an old merchant ship with her ‘mech stowed.

Blood, sweat, and vim had brought her to where she stood.

Callista was the last of the company in, just behind Lynn. She was shrugging her jacket on over her shoulders as she glanced around the room. The lounge was reasonably spacious and well appointed, with a wet bar designed for the rigors of space travel and a few game boards and holo-players. 

She slid onto one of the benches along the wall, the ship already in a steady acceleration to the jump point where they would meet their interstellar transport to head for their rendezvous star system. It provided the proxy of gravity needed for everything to stay in place as though it were on the surface of a world, and when Lynn set a shot glass before her, she held it up, eying the amber within critically.

As she took it, she noticed the room was somber. They were celebrating and mourning at once, she realized. There was no telling how many lives were lost back on the surface, much less when added to the hell that had been the world of Misery not long before.

“May their memories live on,” Natasha said, standing in the middle of the room. Callista hadn’t even noticed her there, and assumed she had to have been huddling behind the bar or with Johnny and Takiro. She felt the impact of that forceful gaze on her, and something in her gut flipped a bit, her eyes widening just a hint.

Natasha seemed to focus on that reaction, the faintest twist of her lip in a smirk almost imperceptible. 

She threw back the drink, and the rest of the Black Widows did the same. 

“Do your thing, everyone, and then rest. We’re going to get ready for Crossing, and we know the Dracs are gonna come visit.” She set the empty glass down, and moved past the bar. Her eyes surveyed the room a moment, but then landed on Callista again.

The rest of the company had dissolved into a broad range of arguing, eulogizing, and anger, each coming out in their own ways. Callista could hear each conversation; she’d always had sharp ears, and it had saved her life before.

Then her concentration broke, completely torn asunder as Natasha Kerensky sat down on the seat across from her, not even a scant meter away.

“I think you’re going to be an investment that pays off,” the Black Widow said, grinning and biting at her lip for a moment. “If you do other things as well as you shoot and run the field, you’re going to have a hell of a career in my team.”

“You’re not worried about my disobedient streak?” Callista couldn’t resist a cocky smirk, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the cool metal wall.

“Look around you,” Natasha replied, shrugging. “I keep all them in line, and you…” She lifted her chin, sheer power in her eyes. “I know what your weakness is already.”

Callista actually found herself letting out a small gasp.

“Wha-” Her mouth had gone dry, suddenly. She had to swallow and lick her lips. “What makes you think I’d be so easy to keep in line?”

“I’ve been around, seen a lot of things.” Natasha waved a hand dismissively, before using it to rub her own shoulder roughly. “I said you can’t walk a straight line, but that’s not what I’ve got planned for you.”

Callista tried to slow her breath, tried to force the heat out of her cheeks.  _ There was no way that the Black Widow is…  _ But the words were already echoing in her mind.  _ There’s no way she means it the way it sounds to me.  _

“Let me see your hand,” Natasha said, lowering hers from her shoulder and opening it, palm up. “Come on.”

“Ok,” Callista said hesitantly, settling hers in Natasha’s. She felt it quick as a flash as she was grabbed tight around her wrist. A quick huff escaped her under her breath and she bit at the inside corner of her lip, trying to stifle anything more.

The knowing smile that lit up her face like some great devil sent a shiver down Callista’s spine.

“You think it’ll be that simple?” Callista managed to hiss out the question, a defiant glimmer flashing in her eyes that belied the heat in her chest and the ache below.

“You’re making it seem like it will be,” Kerensky replied, shrugging lightly, “but what if it takes time?” 

“Oh?” The Black Widow leaned in toward her. 

She gripped the collar of her jacket, and pulled, her other hand still trapping her wrist.

Her lips came up just beside her ear, as if she were just going to casually whisper.

And whisper she did.

“Even better.” 

That was too close to home. Callista couldn’t suppress a hint of a groan, and glared a moment later.

“Are you trying to just out me in the middle of my new team?” 

“Simply confirming my suspicions,” Kerensky said.

As her eyes darted about the room, Callista found herself wondering how many of the team were aware of what was going on. How many of them got what their Captain was doing with their newest inductee? Any? Or was it familiar?

“I think it’s time for a formal debriefing,” the Black Widow said, after another moment. She touched her hand to Callista’s shoulder, and gripped a bit as she stood, pulling her into following. “Let’s go.”

The other pilot swallowed hard against the knot in her throat. What was there to say in response to that? She found just enough will to give a slight nod, and then rose to her feet behind her. 

What worried her were the looks. Her new team, all letting off traumatic stress, were going to see their new teammate getting dragged off by their commander for questionable purpose. The rumors, the judgments, the criticism, it all floated like a swarm beginning to coalesce in her mind.

To her surprise, barely an eye followed them as Natasha led her out of the room.

The ship was not the standard layout that Callista recognized, but it was hardly unusual.  _ Union _ -class ships had been in service for hundreds of years and modifications were numerous, from as simple as the manufacturing corporation to complex rebuilds, but the most common reason had simply been improvisation when supplies lacked.

They took a turn down a short corridor, which ended in a trio of doors. The one on the left opened at a swipe of a keycard from Kerensky, and before she knew what had happened, Callista found herself pulled through the door.

And then she found her back against the door as it slid shut.

The Black Widow had her toned forearm right alongside her head, hand pressed against the metal. She was looking down at her, down that strong nose at her, and for a moment she chewed at her lip.

Callista gritted her teeth in return, pushing back against the sudden turn their encounter had taken. Kerensky was her boss, after all. This was the kind of thing that could result in trouble in most outfits.

The Black Widow Company, though, was not most outfits. Captain Kerensky was not most commanders.

Most commanders didn’t have fiery red hair, that sometimes was dyed black or another shade, nor a build so toned and powerful, but still lithe. 

“Callista,” Natasha said, a low power in her voice. “One chance to back out. You in?”

Her mind raced at the implications. She could be putting herself in any number of ethical traps or setting herself up to get booted from the Dragoons, her only family of years.

She nodded once, slowly, biting at her lip. Natasha Kerensky, the Black Widow, was asking to get with her. How on any planet, or in deep space, was she supposed to refuse that offer? On top of that, there was the matter of having seen her in her cutoff shorts, simple top, and cooling vest. It was an image burned into her mind.

Also burned into her mind was the deep drive to see what was beneath those obscuring garments.

Any further consideration was abruptly put to an end. She had answered in the affirmative, and Natasha wasn’t going to wait any further.

Callista could taste the lingering bitterness of the shots earlier. There was warmth, and a softness she had never associated with the Black Widow. She was an infamous warrior and veteran, who had pulled off unthinkable strategies in battle.

And she tasted wonderful. Bitter fire and softness, distilled into the wetness of an open mouth and tongue pushing an advantage against her. There was no reason to fight it, Callista letting the back of her head press against the steel of the door. 

What she didn’t have to hold back was a counterattack.

Her hands slipped onto Natasha’s hips, feeling the curvature and strength there. Yet, more of the same subtle yield and softness.

Natasha was as much woman as she was warrior, and it made Callista’s head swim as much as the kiss.

A kiss, though, was chaste compared to the wants swirling under the surface. She groaned into Natasha’s mouth as she felt fingers against the hem of her tank top, beginning to push up under it without hesitation or patience.

It suited her just fine, and she did her own part by gripping Natasha’s jacket and lifting, pushing it up toward her shoulders so she could slide it off. It meant her retreating for a moment, but the prudence of the choice was clear, and she took advantage of the retreat to reposition.

As soon as the jacket was gone, she had a hand at the back of Callista’s neck, and she pulled her with her through the room. In a fleeting moment, she was down on the bed.

Natasha’s fiery red hair fell around like a veiled tunnel that shielded out the dim lights in the room and left only the two of them facing each other.

“Don’t ever hold back, Cali. This can all end in an instant. One asshole with a lucky shot, and it’s over.”

For a fraction of a second, Callista could swear she saw something distant in Kerensky’s eyes, like something absent was catching her gaze.

But then she grinned, and leaned in, biting at Callista’s jawline. The pilot moaned, arching up her hips against Natasha’s, reaching down for the bottom of her shirt to begin tugging.

“No getting ahead,” Natasha replied with a nip, pulling back and sliding her hands down back to Callista’s tank top. “Unfinished business, right?” She began to shimmy it up with her hands, feeling the smooth skin and muscles sheathed beneath it as she went.

“You do put in a lot of work.” She leaned down, planting her lips against Callista’s again in what quickly became another long, exploring kiss. She seemed to revel in each slightly hitched breath, in each moan that left the woman.

“Like you don’t,” Callista managed as Natasha’s teeth grazed over her collarbone. 

Then her shirt was coming up, quickly, past her shoulders as she lifted a bit to let it pass. Somewhere to the side on the floor, there was a soft sound of it landing. 

“Shit,” Natasha huffed out, looking down at her as she leaned up for a better view. Callista’s olive skin and small breasts exposed with her smooth, strong chest and belly held her focus.

“Did I just get the better of you, Captain?” Callista grinned with her slyly spoken words, taking the chance to grip Natasha’s top again. This time, there was no hesitation in letting it rise up and get thrown off to land on top of her own. 

“I knew you were fucking dangerous.” Natasha gave a cocky grin and grabbed her shoulders, pushing Callista down to the bed. “Let’s put that mouth of yours to better use, huh?” 

“Is that an order?”

“I don’t need to order you to get you to obey.” 

Callista found herself biting her lip at that, and almost instantly her hands were at the buckle of the belt for Natasha’s pants. It quickly earned a smirk of appreciation that made her ache all through her body.

“Oh you are a find, aren’t you?” She shed the slim-fitting pants in a flash, adding to the growing mess on the floor. Black panties, bundled in with them and removed in tandem flopped a bit further on the rubberized, textured surface.

“If I’d known this was on the table, I’d have punched Collins sooner,” Callista said in a husky voice, eyes half-lidded in anticipation and desire.

“If I’d known, I’d have ordered you to punch him sooner,” Natasha answered, before gripping her curly dark hair in her long fingers. “But right now? He doesn’t matter. This is what’s important.” 

Natasha slid forward, and pressed her glistening mound down onto her newest recruit’s face.

She leaned back, hand still in her hair, and her feet framing in her head. She felt Callista’s hands find her ass and begin to explore it with firm, unabashed squeezing and caresses, and gave an approving, wanton moan.

As Callista’s tongue tasted of her, the musk and tang of a warrior that was still unmistakably woman, Natasha leaned back, first, arching and pressing down as she sought to test where she got the most reaction. Callista mentally cataloged as she sank into a world of limited senses; her legs blocked her ears, and she did not have any wish to escape from under her. Her eyes locked above on her chest and face when her head dipped forward, while her mouth was full of her. 

It was a world she found intoxicating and perfect.

Slowly, Natasha leaned forward more and more, each shift of balance brought on by a closer swipe or circle of Callista’s practiced tongue.

“You-” Natasha let out a strangled huff and a half-laugh. “You’ve done this before.”

A single eyebrow raised, Callista’s barely visible face easily conveying the obviousness of Natasha’s observation.

“Right, of course,” Natasha replied, giving a low growl and half-bite of her lip. “I won’t knock experience.”

Callista’s hands spread Natasha wide from behind, drawing a low groan of pleasure as she was stretched just enough to feel the tension in her skin tease at aching. She responded by grinding herself against her face, and then she felt the rising tide in her burst. 

Natasha curled forward, hissing through her teeth as she shook with the force of the peak the other pilot had coaxed from her. 

“Wow, already done?” Callista’s voice was muffled a bit, but she punctuated the words with a slow, languid slide of her tongue up Natasha’s slit, holding her eyes the whole time with a triumphant light in hers.

Natasha let out slow breaths, trying to bring her breathing under control. Lifting an arm, she drew the back of her hand across her brow, wiping away drops of sweat that had gathered and made her glisten in the low light.

“Don’t fuck with me, Strovos,” Natasha murmured, running a tongue over her teeth with a snide look in return after she buried a slight shudder. 

“Already did, Captain.”

Natasha was off of her in a flash; Callista felt her breath pushed out of her as Natasha’s elbow pushed against her stomach. She didn’t lose track of her, but the placement was a surprise as she felt her laying over her.

“Then it’s my turn to fuck you.” 

The lowness, the husky control in her voice, made Callista almost roll her eyes back for a moment. The intent, the inexorable promise in her growl, was dizzying.

And Callista’s unsated lust was making it no easier.

The tease of resolution came in the way Natasha cupped her mound, palm rubbing in firmly against her in a deep touch that shot off sparks in her vision. The exhaustion of battle, death, and sorrow was held at bay just enough for her neglected need to blossom, and she ground up to get more of that delicious touch.

“Oh this is going to be great,” Kerensky said, voice still aflame. Her fingers curled, and slid inside of Callista’s slit, finding home effortlessly. A seeking, circular pattern from those long digits made her cry out. 

As it happened, that maddening pressure was far too sweet for Callista to fair any better than Natasha had only a few minutes before. In no time, her hips were rhythmically pushing against her hand to ever growing tension inside her.

When she came with a low, blissful groan, it was Kerensky’s turn to smirk.

The Black Widow did not let up on the small circles with her curled fingers.

“You can take on more than one, right?” Natasha’s words felt like someone calling a bluff. She meant to test that experience of Callista’s relentlessly, and what started as one rolled over into two climaxes, followed by a third. They blurred together, Callista bucking against her and biting at her knuckles.

Callista’s other arm wrapped around one of Kerensky’s thighs, and she bit at it, eliciting a grimace from her as it muffled her moans that were getting louder.

“No use, there isn’t a person within two floors that doesn’t know what we’re doing, now,” Natasha said, taking the pain in stride. 

Panting, Callista shifted her mouth.

“Then own it, Natasha,” she managed through her haze.

“You know what? Fair e-fucking-nough.” 

It earned a weary snort of amusement from Callista, who used her grip to heave Natasha back over her. In another moment, her fingers were matching Natasha’s, deftly exploring inside her.

The next time they came, it was louder.

Then, a bit less so. 

Callista was surprised to find out that after a few more, Natasha actually could get a bit hoarse.

But finally, aching and barely coherent, Callista smacked at Natasha’s ass resting above her face, and the other woman rolled off to the side. Exhausted surprise filled her when she felt their hands touch and fingers weaving together.

“I consider that a pass on your trial period,” Natasha said, voice dry and a bit fried.

“Feel free to test me again anytime, Nat,” Callista replied. “Wait, no. Sleep and food, first, ok?”

“Request approved.” 

Callista’s eyes fell shut, and she was fairly certain Natasha was drifting off, too.

Her muscles shocked into attention, and she lifted her head the scant few inches she could manage.

“Wait, if you’re the Black Widow, does that mean you off your partners after?”


	4. To Pass Through the Flames, Into Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years pass, and the state of the known galaxy changes.
> 
> Change can bring sorrow and loss, but sometimes...

The years had been difficult.

Reduced to almost nothing, the Dragoons had reclaimed their vigor and strength and established a seat of power on the world of Outreach. Mercenaries across the Inner Sphere, the extent of generally known space, traveled there to find their fortunes and a safe haven.

On some days, Callista thought about giving up active duty.

Fifty five years of age, just a few scant weeks ago, she was still capable and fit, but she felt it gnawing at the edges of her reflexes. There was no cure for that, not like the vision correction and the advanced prosthetic that had replaced her left arm below her upper arm.

Natasha was older still, though Callista had never dared to ask what year she had been born, or even about her parents. Such things were never comfortable subjects for them; she had always figured they were both afraid of the answers.

It was possible it was time to say goodbye to the acrid smoke, the chemical burns, of war. Contrails of missiles, armor-piercing shells, particle and laser weaponry flash-frying the atmosphere, all of the memories clung in her mind.

At night, they often made sleep futile.

It was one such night.

On corrugated metal, she walked slowly down the catwalk that framed her enormous black  _ Marauder II _ . Her fingers brushed along the curve of its body, touching the freshly repainted emblem of the snarling wolf’s head that marked it as a Dragoon’s ‘mech. There were still some pieces of armor plating out of place, where wiring and myomer, the complex musculature fibres of the machine, were exposed, after the last close call on a raiding mission.

It was the command hangar for the Black Widow Battalion, long since expanded from a company. Almost twenty years had passed since she had been inducted and earned her place on Harrow’s Sun, then again on Crossing in the face of the bleakest of odds.

Almost twenty years since she’d joined Kerensky in bed.

Twelve gantries and rigging systems for ‘mechs, twelve ‘mechs in their nests.

Not two slots down, she saw Kerensky’s ominous black  _ Warhammer _ . Upgraded countless times, but still the same dark harbinger that had sown terror on battlefields on countless stars in the night sky, there was something odd about seeing it so idle.

Not too far off, she saw red hair, streaked with gray, running a hand down the long-barreled arm of the war machine.

“Nat-“ Callista started to say, before she fell silent.

Natasha had a duffel slung over her shoulder, black with a wolf’s head logo, but one she was unfamiliar with. Gold stars set beneath it in a row, and it faced opposite the wolf’s head on her ‘mech.

They were not scheduled to be deployed for at least two more weeks, so where was she going with her belongings packed? She leaned her head back, looking down her nose as she tried to decide what was happening.

But Callista was never a woman of inaction. The best way to know was to ask. And if she could not ask her lover, who could she ask anything?

On her booted heel she turned and headed down the catwalk. She was quiet, she had always been unnervingly quiet, when she moved about, as she went down the access path to where Kerensky and her  _ Warhammer _ stood.

Yet when she reached the end, it seemed as if her very spirit had given her away.

Natasha was looking right at her, dressed in her normal cut-off jacket and torn jeans atop boots.

“Y-“ Callista found her voice unwilling to respond for a moment, and she cleared her throat. Her stoic front blown, she sighed. “You’re packed? A command meeting away from the team?”

“Something like that,” Natasha replied, an unusual, distant look in her eyes. It felt as though she was staring through Callista, not at her.

“You could have told me,” Callista said with a sign, shaking her head. “I know it happens when it’s needed.” She took a couple of steps toward the Black Widow, before her legs came to a stop. She looked her up and down for a moment, then frowned.

“That’s not what this is, is it, Natasha.”

Natasha Kerensky shook her head once and turned to look out toward the hangar’s massive doors.

Callista bit at the inside of her lip, a hundred questions swirling, and yet all of them felt insufficient, incapable of addressing the growing pit in her stomach.

“Callista…” Natasha’s hand gripped the railing firmly, knuckles going white before she turned back to the other pilot. “It’s not something I can explain and have it make any sense, but I have to leave.”

“Ah,” Callista said, her breath catching in her throat before she narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “And no one can know about this, I assume.”

“Jaime knows.” Natasha’s answer was quick, but calm. “A few others must have expected.”

“And am I allowed to know just what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m sorry, but no. Some things just are not up to be shared with those who were not with us in the beginning.” That year, decades ago, was when they had arrived, the massive mercenary force an unexpected shock when they appeared from the darkness of space and offered their services. “Not yet at least, but I won’t be here for that part.”

“I know that we’re soldiers,” Callista said, forming her words carefully, “but after this long, I thought maybe I’d rate as someone you could tell things, even despite the questions we never dared to ask.”

Natasha sighed, head to the side as she looked up and down the other warrior.

“You are,” she said quietly. “Maybe too much. But this is not a choice you want to make, and you do not want to follow me.”

“Are you so absolutely sure you know what I’d choose?” The words were fast, an edge of irritation in them that cut the air and brought a familiar, faint smirk to Kerensky.

“I think that’s the problem.”

“Really.”

Natasha’s smirk turned to a wistful smile. That deadpan, sardonic asshole of a woman that she cared too much for was always just able to slip past the armor.

“I don’t look it, but I’m over 70, Cali,” the Black Widow said, sighing quietly. “You still wouldn’t want to fuck with me-“

“Debatable.”

“Heh,” Kerensky shook her head, the aggressive gleam in Callista’s eyes stirring memories. “I know you think about retiring, but I can’t. And this, I have to do, because otherwise I’d be compromising my whole life’s work.”

“What the fuck is your life’s journey?” That brought the storms back into the olive-skinned pilot’s eyes. “We’re professionals, but we fight and die in the mud for the people with money and power just the same.”

“That’s not why I do it.”

“Then why?”

With a sigh, Kerensky ran her hand back through her hair.

“If I could tell you this, I would, but the problem is you’d probably try to go with me.”

“Is that so wrong, Natasha? Is that really so bad?”

“The way this is all going to end?” Natasha closed the distance and lifted her hand, setting it on the bony and strong shoulder of her lover. “Yes.”

“When I was twenty-one, when most kids on the average nice world get to go to a trade school or university,” Callista said, voice low and trembling, “my parents pissed off the wrong other noble family on Regulus. I have never had peace in my life since that day, even training as a pilot and in school.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said simply, looking away for a split second.

“Spare me. I’ve fought, been shot at, stabbed, and killed for my whole life.” Callista reached up to grab at Natasha’s chin and to force her to meet her gaze, but the older pilot snagged her by the wrist. Just the same, though, she met her eyes again. “Don’t tell me something is too dangerous.”

Natasha closed her eyes, then, breaking the shared gaze once more. Her sigh was burdened, heavy.

She slipped past the other warrior, letting her wrist free.

“You deserve to have some peace in your life, even if it’s fleeting.”

“And you don’t?” Callista whirled to face her, glare intense and her hands on her hips.

“This is what I was born to do, Cali. Not you.”

“Maybe I wasn’t born for it but I’m damn good.”

Natasha laughed, short but sincere.

“Yes. Yes you are.” She looked back at Callista as she rounded the end of the catwalk. She set her jaw, then, and turned.

At heart, she knew if she didn’t go right away, she would give in, and that…

She was not going to put Callista through what was coming.

“More coreward, spinward, somewhere quiet. Solaris, maybe, if you need the entertainment. But not up.”

“Ok, random choices,” Callista said, sighing. “Or you could stay. Or take me wherever you’re going. I don’t care. A little old lady’s life doesn’t suit me any more than it does you.”

“What about your books?”

Callista winced.

Her quarters had become almost a library, and when she wasn’t there, deployed, or with Natasha, the actual library was a favorite place, though she didn’t skimp on the gym. A ghost of her past that she’d saved, her inquisitiveness had never quite burned out.

“I will get in  _ Matilda _ and I will stand in your goddamn way,” Callista hissed out with a quick glance over at her ‘mech.

“You’re not going to shoot me, Cali,” Natasha said, as she began to walk away. This time, her steps did not slow or stop. Words followed, under her breath and too soft for Callista to make them out.

“Fucking hell, Nat,” Callista growled, bounding down the catwalk in long strides. “What about you, you gonna survive going where you’re going? Huh?” She felt her fingers twitch, and she grabbed the pistol tucked in its holster at her belt.

She leveled it at the other pilot, but Natasha simply kept walking toward the elevator to the ground level.

“Maybe it’d be easier on us both,” she said, stepping onto the metal lattice of the elevator. “But, you’d regret doing that, and I don’t mean considering the police or Wolfnet.”

“Don’t give me that shit.” Callista almost squeezed the trigger, but lowered the gun instead.

“I’m sorry,” Kerensky replied, watching from behind the gate as it swung closed and began to lower.

“Are you?” Callista gripped the railing as she leaned over and watched her go.

Natasha Kerensky, the Black Widow, looked up.

Their eyes met, unobscured by the metal grating.

And she nodded.

Her lips mouthed the words, and Callista felt her eyes burn, wetness welling as she comprehended them.

‘Thanks for giving me good memories I don’t deserve.’

She did not feel it as she fell onto a knee, nor could she clearly see it aside from the faintest impression as the Black Widow left the hangar.

Left Outreach.

Left the Inner Sphere.

And returned home.

 

 

*** * * * ***

 

It was a dreary afternoon, drizzle falling on Lucerne’s capital city. It suited Callista perfectly well, as she sat with her cup of tea at the small table in her apartment, eyes drifting over the park below. Plants there drew from the soil, turning their normal chlorophyll green into a bluer tint, which made the world more comforting than she had expected when she first settled there a few years past.

The waiting news indicator on the holovid display at the edge of the table glowed a soft yellow, heralding waiting reports. She’d ignored it most of the morning, in favor of reading an old book she had recently acquired. A history, dating all the way back to the 1800s on Earth, it had been all too fascinating.

With a huff, she tapped the button, rolling her eyes as the normal Comstar intro began.

“Fucking fascists,” she murmured, adding a bit of cream to her tea. She had always appreciated the time Natasha had punched one of their acolytes squarely in the jaw in a bar, a decade ago. Even as a whole, the Dragoons had never trusted them and their obfuscated methods.

“In news of famous individuals of the Inner Sphere,” the sonorous Comstar reporter said, “or perhaps one should say infamous, fighting on Twycross recently resulted in the death of the Black Widow, long known to observers here as the Black Widow of Wolf’s Dragoons.”

Callista’s tea cup fell from her hand that had been lifting it, ceramic shards scattering as it shattered amidst a flood of tan, hazy tea.

“Combat between the Falcon Guards and 352nd Assault Cluster clashed as part of a large conflict between the Wolf and Jade Falcon clans, and some footage of the duel between the Black Widow and her opponent has proliferated. It is tied to this broadcast, along with a summarizing biography of Natasha Kerensky. Meanwhile…”

Part of her knew, expected, that it was something inevitable.

When things had finally played out, the Clans invading, and Natasha showing up as a leader of Clan Wolf, it had, in part made sense. The secrecy, the reluctance, the hesitation…

Callista still wished she had gone.

She knew the clans would have viewed her poorly, but she cared little. She would have been glad to show her how much fight was left in her. Watching their prejudices against the middle-aged and older getting consumed in flames in their faces, she suspected, would even have been satisfying.

Maybe if she had been there, Natasha wouldn’t have had to meet such an end.

Maybe if she had thought of more to say, something better, she could have held her back from going.

Maybe she could have grown wings and simply snatched her and carried her somewhere far away.

None of the wishes mattered. None of the regrets could be anything but regrets.

It burned in her chest like so much coiling sickness and agony.

Her hand shaking, she pushed herself out of her seat, mindless of the spilled tea on her simple, multi-pocketed olive green shorts. She didn’t bother to turn off the broadcast, but the words were incapable of reaching her as she trudged toward the sliding door to her balcony.

Uneasily, she opened it, a slight chill hitting her burning cheeks and cooling them, bringing an unwanted refreshing feeling. The soft rainfall quickly began to spot her black tank top and create a soft, wet sheen on her skin. Muscles still stood out against that skin, wrinkles be damned, from fitness she still maintained meticulously.

Leaning forward she let her elbows rest on the railing and held her head between her palms, trying to stave off the thoughts bombarding her.

Below, a long figure in the car park looked up at her, and caught her gaze through the haze of the tears she was pushing back to keep from being able to fall.

“Ms. Strovos,” the woman called out, her heavy, hooded jacket obscuring her face. “May I speak to you?”

“Not the best time,” Callista managed to choke out.

“This may be the best time,” came the woman’s answer.

“Whatever, then,” she mumbled. “Come up, then I can tell you to get out.”

She thought she caught a quirk of a grin on the shrouded woman’s face, but she barely considered it, instead pondering whether it was even worth going over and unlocking the door to her apartment.

It wasn’t until the knock at her door came that she snapped out of a distracted reverie, unbidden images of her and Natasha in all manner of situations, from battle to the most compromising, assaulted her.

“Fine,” she growled, pushing herself up from the railing and going back inside. She dripped water in her wake, thoroughly soaked by the light precipitation. She tapped the keypad by the door, and it unlocked. She had little concern, really. Lucerne was a quiet place, of late, and usually fairly safe.

“May I come in and have a seat?” The woman was a bit taller than Callista, and her fair skin was marked with burn scars along one side of her face.

Callista didn’t bother looking, though.

“Yeah, sure, you can help yourself to my fridge, my booze, and my tea, too,” she said as she walked over to a slender, well-cushioned chair in the living area. She sat down on it, a leg draped over one side and her chin propped on her shoulder as she watched her ‘guest.’

There was an amused sound from her throat, and the woman shook her head.

“Let’s not move too quickly.”

There was something eerily familiar about that tone of voice, even the words themselves.

“Should I know you?” Callista gave a wrinkled look of curiosity.

The woman closed the apartment door slowly behind her, and took deliberate, slow steps over toward the retired pilot.

“That’s not an answer.” Callista’s voice was quick, a hint of playfulness and a generous helping of sarcasm.

“It’s the start of one,” the woman promised. She reached up to the zipper of the jacket she wore, and began to pull it down slowly. She took another step closer, dangerously close to invading Callista’s personal space.

It earned a raised, gray eyebrow. To her credit, though, she was calm, and unmoving.

Both of them went up when the woman slowly, with a wince, lowered to one knee in the dimly lit apartment.

She pulled back and let the jacket slip down off her shoulders, the hood going with it.

Callista stared. She blinked a few times, then stared more.

“It’s been a while,” the woman said.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Callista’s words were out before she even realized she’d said them.

There was no mistaking Natasha. The scars were new, that was certainly true, and her hair had succumbed to more gray, leaving only a few streaks of fiery red.

“Liar,” Kerensky whispered.

“Always was a bit of one.” Callista leaned into the cool hand that found itself pressed against her cheek, and squeezed her eyes shut.

“I was hoping I’d beat the news.” With a sigh, the Black Widow shook her head. “I’m sorry. And I mean that.”

“I’ll give you it just this once.”

Callista lifted her hand, still a touch unsteady, and touched the burn scars.

“Do I want to ask how you survived?” It was a quiet, almost reverent question.

“Simply physics,” Natasha replied, “but no. It’s a boring story.”

“You’re still a liar, too, I see.”

“A bit.”

Callista’s leg shifted, and she leaned forward. Natasha let herself drift closer to match, and their foreheads rested together.

“Does this mean it’s over?”

“We’ll never stop being soldiers,” Natasha whispered.

Callista nodded faintly.

“But, we can pretend. I think I’d like to do that for a while.”

“Yeah,” Callista agreed. “I think so, too.”

They settled against each other, both propping the other up.

In tired gentleness, their lips met, and they felt each others warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> For those curious, I imagine Natasha Kerensky is pansexual as all fuck. Callista is obviously a straight up lesbian.
> 
> Please let us know if you liked our writing, and feel free to leave any constructive criticism in comments here or in asks at our tumblrs (and now twitter because fuck tumblr), including if you spy a missing tag:  
> http://archaema.tumblr.com/ (NSFW Twitter @shadysuccubus)  
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